


Just Another Illusion

by lacat123



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arrhythmia, Brotherly Love, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Uses Actual Words, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Episode: s12e02 Mamma Mia, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Rape Recovery, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Sam Winchester Whump, Showers, Torture, Triggers, Worried Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 11:51:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18365447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacat123/pseuds/lacat123
Summary: Dean is dead. His mother is dead. Yet, they are here. They are here, so none of this can be real. Just another illusion, another little game Toni is playing with him. It has to be.It has to be.A fix-it for s12e1/2.





	Just Another Illusion

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! This is a little thing I wrote to fill an idea I've had for a while. It's a fix-it for _that _episode. We all know which one I'm talking about. Thanks for reading!__
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _Warnings in end notes.__  
> 

This couldn't be real. It was so painfully obvious that this wasn't real. But it felt real; the rope around his wrists, the burn on his foot. That all screamed at him with the same ferocity as before he fell asleep. 

But this wasn't real. Just a fantasy. 

Mom was dead. Dean was dead. This not-reality he was in now seemed like his dream. Dean beside him, with Mom of all people bursting in like the bad-ass he always imagined. Dean shouting into his face and shaking him, asking if he was alright. It felt normal, a testament to how screwed up their lives are. 

He had three options: he's dead, he's dreaming, or he's under Toni's spell. 

His skin was crawling at the thought of it. The idea that someone would do that, as a way of torture? It made him feel unclean, dirty. Like something inside him had been taken out and twisted and blackened. While she had just sat there, watching him. And she seemed to know what happened, in the dream. She was there, with him. With her hot breath that had smelled stupidly like earl grey tea. And he had enjoyed it. He had almost betrayed every hunter he knew, just because of a fuck.

If he wasn't in so much pain, he would've said dream. Everything was slightly blurred and haloed, making it difficult to focus. It felt dreamlike. But that's how he had felt in that bed, with Toni-

He moved his foot a little, ignoring Dean saying to stop, and felt the burn twinge. Nope, not a dream. Not a dream. 

Two options: death or hallucination. 

You'd think he'd be hoping it was just a hallucination. That he was still in that dingy basement while some British woman tortures him. But you'd be wrong. Because he knew, that close to him in the real world, she was there. Watching his reaction. 

If he was dead, this would be heaven or hell. But it didn't seem like either. He felt his hopes slowly fade. 

This had to be a hallucination. She was probably lying when she said it only worked once. And this time, instead of forcing him into a sick parody of a wet-dream, it was his greatest wish. Dean and Mom both back from Heaven and Hell, here to save him. 

But he knew better. He knew better than to blindly believe in what he was seeing. Similar to a djinn dream: you have to break out of it. 

Not-Dean had pulled off all his bindings, while he slumped in the chair. Pain was still echoing through him. Dean's face was bruised. Wonder why that was? Seemed odd for his brother to be hurt in this. Although that did help to sell the reality. 

Last time, Toni had stopped the illusion when he said he knew what was happening. Maybe that'd work this time too, and they could just go on with the normal torturing and not... this. Because as much as he hates to admit it, this hurt. Seeing something he never had, and something he never will again. 

"I know what you're doing, Toni. It's not going to work," His voice was loud in the room, too loud with his growing headache. Dean glanced up, giving him a confused glance. 

"Toni, the British bitch? She's out cold by the stairs, she's not doing anything anymore." His brother's voice was soft, almost too gentle. He followed his directions and saw that Toni was, indeed, unconscious by the stone steps. Probably just pretending. 

"I'm not going to fall for it again, you know that. Just let me out of this and we can go back to the more conventional torturing," His Mom looked worried. He really looked at her for the first time. In this reality, it seemed she hadn't aged a day since her death. Probably because his mind didn't know anything else to create the image from. "Mom and Dean? That's a low blow even for you,"' 

Not-Dean kept talking to him, but he just ignored it. His Mom was talking too, her voice soft and beautiful. It was exactly like he'd imagined it. He couldn't help but listen, just to the subtle inflections it held. It sounded perfect for singing, lullabies as he went to sleep. 

"Sam, Sammy, look at me!" He heard Not-Dean cry out. On reflex, he glanced over. There were tears in his fake brother's eyes, so unlike him. It hurt, it really hurt, to not only see the level of emotion, but also those green eyes. Like a forest. And his nickname. The real Dean would never say it again. 

He glanced over Not-Dean's shoulder, at the small cart that held various medical instruments. A lone cup of tea also sat a top it, steam still billowing out. It made him shiver. 

He shakily tried to stand up, wobbling a bit. Not-Dean steadied him, still asking questions. And he still ignored him as he began to hobble towards the cart, wincing as he felt the nearly-dry damp in his jeans. He spared another look towards Toni, making him feel sick. The golden hair, that he knew was soft, he realized with a soft groan, was spread around her head like some halo. It seemed mocking. 

"What the hell is going on, Sam?" Not-Dean cried out. But Sam didn't care. He'd reached his goal, and grabbed a sharp looking scalpel from the tray. When he turned, Not-Dean's eyes widened, and he put his arms up. "Sammy? You're safe now, ok? Just put the scalpel down,"

"Sam-" Mary tried to begin, but he cut her off. 

"You can cut the crap, Toni. I know. Why'd you even think this would work? You know my mom's dead. That Dean's-" He cleared his throat. "Before, that was miles too far. But this, this is about a universe from that. If you won't end this, I will." 

He put the scalpel just over his wrist, where he knew the vein would be, and started to press down. Not-Dean leaped into action, pushing him to the floor and wrenching the scalpel out of his hand. Or, at least, trying to. But he managed to hold on, swiping him across the cheek with it. 

"Sorry, De." He whispered, seeing the blood roll down and hit his shirt. Even though he wasn't real, it still hurt him, to hurt his brother like that. He pushed over, rolling until he was pinning Dean to the floor with his knees. He straightened up, glancing towards Toni's unconscious body again. "See you soon," 

He pushed down, hard, and the edge cut through his skin like butter. Some blood started to drip down, running off his wrist and onto Dean. He whispered another apology in his head. 

He was about to press the rest of the way when everything cut to black. 

________________________________

"...happened to him?" 

"I don't know, sweetheart. I don't-" 

Voices floated through his head, barely-there whispers. They sounded nice, comforting. Like warmth and home and family. Safe, he thought, he's safe. 

"It had to be something that bitch Toni did," 

Memories came rushing back, and he forced his eyes open. The ceiling was bland, same as ever. But he was lying on a bed, the sheets soft and satiny just like her's-

A strangled sob left his throat as he frantically pushed them back. He tried to stand, but forgot about his foot and fell to the floor. He crawled from there farther into the corner, trying to forget the feel of fabric brushing against his skin. 

A hand settled on his arm, and he jumped back, groaning. Everything hurt and ached and pounded. The light was too bright and everything was swirling around him. 

"Sam? Sammy, I need you to listen to me. You're safe, you're back at the bunker, in your room. Mom knocked you out before, and we patched you up." The voice sounded like Dean. The person looked like Dean. But it couldn't be. He's dead, He's-

"But you're dead?" He whispered. Maybe-Not-Dean's gaze softened. Sam tried to ignore the gash across his cheek held together with butterfly bandages. 

"It's a long story, but let's just say for now that I didn't use the soul-bomb. I was never dead. I never died." He wanted to believe him. Desperately, maddeningly, wanted to. But the dream and the hallucination and his Mom? It didn't add up, it didn't. "You really scared us for a while there. Thought you'd gone grade-A cuckoo." 

He studied Possibly-Dean's face, looking at every hard etched line drawn by worry and fear. It all seemed so real, everything always did in these realities. 

"You're not real," He said, assuring himself. "This is just another illusion, another way to hack into my brain." 

Not-Dean groaned, running a heavy hand over his face. "Sammy, please. I'm real, Mom's real. This, this is real. That bitch is being shipped off to England as we speak. A-and you almost fucking killed yourself before so just listen to me. Whatever I can do to help prove to you that this is real." 

"Shower," He choked out immediately. "I need a shower," 

Maybe-Dean looked surprised and a bit confused, but nodded anyway. "We cleaned the blood off and everything, if that's what you're worried about." A bolt of understanding went through him. They didn't know. And he wasn't going to tell these copies stuff like that anyway, not if Toni could be listening to it all. 

"Please, Dean," 

"Yeah, yeah, of course, if that's what you want," Maybe-Dean quickly replied. He helped him stand, and walk over to the bathroom. "Careful with your stitches." 

Sam nodded, waiting impatiently as his maybe-brother left. Stripping out of the sweatpants and t-shirt, he looked his body up and down in the mirror. Bruised and battered and stitched, long white bandage running up his left arm, but nothing too bad. Of course, it could all get worse in a few hours. Toni could always add a few more lines. Or switch up the realities a bit and go back to that bedroom. Or just go to him, in the real world, where he's tied up-

He shook his head, dethroning that train of thought. He had to focus on this right now. Even if it wasn't real, maybe a shower would get rid of this... feeling. Of dirt and grime and wrong that pervaded his skin.

He turned on the shower, stepping in and feeling the water run over him. It was nice, relaxing. It cleared his head a bit, pushed the bad thoughts a little farther away. 

He washed his hair and body, quickly, not lingering in any one place. Every touch was just a gentle reminder of her hands there, her mouth there. So stark and real it almost forced him back into the memory. But he pushed it off, focusing on getting clean. 

All too soon, he was done, and just standing under the stream. Steam billowed around him, a thin layer of water around his feet. The drain was partially clogged, so he hadn't used this shower in a while. An odd detail, for this illusion to include. 

He leaned his head back, water pouring down his face. Plastering hair to his forehead and forcing his eyes closed. For a moment, he stayed there. Until he leaned a bit too far back and lost his balance. 

With only one good foot, it was a lost cause to try and stay upright. He hit the ground hard, a loud groan punching out of him. The impact made everything hurt, and he was convinced his bruises had bruises now. He sat there, kneeling, for a few seconds before the door pushed open and Not-Dean jumped inside. 

"Sammy, are you hurt?" He let out a low groan in response. His head was pounding again. 

"'m fine." He said half-heartedly, staring at the far wall. Water ran down it in rivulets. 

He knew the moment Not-Dean saw him from the loud exclamation of "shit!" that came from behind the curtain. It was pulled back roughly and Dean jumped into the shower, fully clothed, without a second thought. 

"What the hell happened, man?" 

"Lost my balance," He muttered back, ignoring the heat that rushed to his face. 

"I shoulda stayed in here with you. Stupid." Not-Dean said to himself, before kneeling down into the layer of water that coated the bottom of the tub. "Anything hurt?"

"Everything." Sam replied, jumping when Not-Dean laid a hand on his arm to help him up. "Don't." 

"What? You need to get up, Sam." 

"No, don't touch me. You're not real." He said, half to himself. Dean sighed, pushing a piece of wet hair from his face. 

"Listen to me, Sammy. I am real, this is all real. I know what you went through was hard, but it's me. Dean." His maybe-brother grabbed his chin, ignoring his protests, moving it slightly until they were looking eye to eye. "What can I do to make you believe that?" 

Sam stared at him for a few moments, before moving his hand over his maybe-brother's heart. He felt it beat. Six times perfectly, than a skip on the seventh. Arrhythmia. He's had it since he was born. That beat has always been comforting. Six beats, skip. Six beats, skip. That was the sound he'd heard falling asleep so many times as a child. 

Of course it didn't prove anything. He knew about it and therefore it could appear in the hallucination. He moved his hand higher, cupping Maybe-Dean's cheek. Brushed a finger along the line where the cut crossed the bone. That was his fault. He had put that there. He had hurt him. 

"I want you to be real," He whispered. "So damn much. But I don't know how, De. What she did-" 

"She's gone, Sam. She's gone across the ocean and if you want me to track her down and gank her, I will. But we need to get this clear first. I am real." 

Sam stared at him, his eyes, the water running down his face and soaking through his jeans. And something clicked. 

"Dean," He said, crying, laying his head onto his brother's shoulder. Dean wrapped an arm around him, pulling him tighter to his chest.

"It's alright, Sammy. It's alright. I'm here."

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> Non-graphic allusions to past rape  
> Suicide attempt
> 
> Thank you for reading, and don't forget to kudo and comment if you enjoyed this!
> 
> EDIT 4/12: So after both rewatching this episode and rereading this I realized I forgot about Sam’s gunshot wound in his leg. Please forget about that. Sorry folks!


End file.
